Happy Hour and Creepy Stuff

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:


“Happy Hour is a marketing term for a period of time in which a restaurant or bar offers discounts on alcoholic drinks, such as beer, wine, and cocktails. Typically, it is in the late afternoon Monday through Thursday, usually taking place at some period between 4 PM and 7 PM. This promotion is intended to boost business on what may otherwise be a slow day. In most cases the "happy hour" lasts longer than a single hour.


The term Happy Hour also is commonly used to describe the gathering of work colleagues at a restaurant or bar after work hours, possibly outside the period of 4 PM and 7 PM.


The specifics usually differ from country to country. In some European countries like the Netherlands, the price of an alcoholic drink is regulated and selling them at half price is prohibited. During happy hour, a customer gets double the amount of drinks instead. In Italy, a customer often pays the same price or even more for the drink but is offered free finger foods. In the United States it typically entails finger foods and discounted drinks.


Happy Hour can also be referred to as the period prior to dinner, where appetizers and drinks are served at ones home.


The term originated in the United States Navy. In the 1920s, “Happy Hour” was slang for a scheduled entertainment period on board a ship during which boxing and wrestling bouts took place, this was a valuable opportunity for sailors to let off the steam accumulated during the long periods at sea.


The idea of drinking before dinner has its roots in the Prohibition era. When the 18th Amendment and the Volstead Act were passed banning alcohol consumption, citizens would host “cocktail hours”, also known as “happy hours”, at a speakeasy (an illegal drinking establishment) before eating at restaurants where alcohol could not be served. Cocktail lounges continued the trend of drinking before dinner. "Happy hour" entered civilian use around 1960, especially after a Saturday Evening Post article on military life in 1959.


The push against drunk driving and alcohol abuse has curtailed the use of the happy hour to some extent.


In the 1980s, bars started providing free hors d'oeuvres to patrons in order to reduce the rate of absorption of alcohol into the bloodstream, in an attempt to lower blood alcohol content.


In 1984, the U.S. Military abolished happy hours at military base clubs. Massachusetts was one of the first U.S. States to implement a state-wide ban on Happy Hours in 1984.


The Canadian province of Alberta created restrictions to Happy Hours that took effect in August 2008. All such promotions must end at 8 pm, and drink prices must conform to the Alberta Gaming and Liquor Commission's minimum price regulations at all times


In Ontario, while establishments may vary liquor prices as long as they stay above the minimum prices set by the Alcohol and Gaming Commission of Ontario, they are not permitted to advertise these prices "in a manner that may promote immoderate consumption." In particular, the phrase "Happy Hour" may not be used in such advertisement.”

In the 80’s in Michigan, we sure had Happy Hours. The little place down the street from work went as far as 3 for 1 drinks! This was a amazing number and all gathered swore they were small or watered down, which probably makes sense for the owner. Three one ounce drinks end up the same as two 1 ½ ounce drinks, with a bit more use of glasses, ice and mixers. Many a night I left there after way too many drinks and drove home.

Sometimes they included a bit of finger foods as well.

I remember going out the Detroit airport about that time to go to the bar in the hotel, which had a free taco bar for their Happy Hour. I was there with one of our Board members so I don’t think free tacos was our main purpose for being at the airport, but the free food is what I remember, no surprise there. We had some drinks and some tacos, and I excused myself to go to the men’s room and there it was!

I had never used, or probably never knew the term pedophile at that time, so it was not what came directly to mind. This was many years before the JonBenét Ramsey case and I never had heard of participation in child beauty pageants. Having had three sons, nothing like that had ever come up. And yet, as I walked back from the hotel bathroom, I ran into a well dressed friend of mine accompanied by two small girls, about five or six years old wearing what can only be described as ball gowns, with intense hair and make up. I was stunned!

I knew something was very wrong!

This was unnatural, it was weird and I was immediately concerned. It must have showed on my face. My friend, a perfectly normal guy, quickly understood my concern. He explained the situation to me as he had been hired to be the judge in the” Little Miss Michigan” or maybe it was the” Little Miss Detroit" pageant. They were interviewing candidates and he was escorting some kids to the washroom. He knew it was weird, and I understood his predicament.

No, he was not a pedophile.

No, he had nothing to do later on with JonBenét Ramsey.

It was just clear to me that this event was some kind of unnatural act!

OK, the devil made me do this one:

The Tomato Plants

On New Years 1978, I moved to Detroit. While my house in Baltimore was for sale, my new job had started. I moved into the Art Center Apartments, next to the school, on a month to month lease. Years later, we purchased that building for student housing, but at the time it was an old midtown apartment building which was probably quite luxurious in its day. As a single resident, my family staying in Baltimore until our house was sold, I needed very little.
There were built in shelves for clothing inside a very large walk in closet. There were built in book shelves between the living room and the dining room. My friends in Ann Arbor had loaned me a large folding bed and helped me build a night stand. I borrowed a table and four chairs from our school cafeteria, just next door to the building.

I brought with me a few items including a small, black and white TV, a small vacuum and some pots and pans. I needed nothing to continue life as pretty normal.

In the spring of that year, we sold the Baltimore house and found a house in Birmingham. Everything was set for a move in at the end of the summer when the current owners of the Birmingham house found one they wanted to buy and had to leave their house. We struck a deal, and I would rent the Birmingham house for two or three months until our sale was completed, and at that point we completed the purchase, sometime in August. So, I left the Art Center Apartments at the end of May, after five months, and moved to the new house.

I moved in all my current borrowed furnishings, but lost the built-ins etc., and was living sparsely, in a much larger situation. I had a lot of space and had inherited a pool table and player piano, too big and heavy to move out of the house. Also, I had a swimming pool, which I needed to learn to maintain anyway. So while I had little, I had recreation galore.

My family did eventually move in late in the fall, but I was alone for the summer.

Late in the season, I was in the Dammen's hardware store in Birmingham, and they were closing out remaining plant stock. In the plants there was a flat of tomato plants way past their prime. The flat was $2, and I figured, as an old “sort of” gardener, I could get one or two of them to grow and I might get a tomato or two out of it. I would be so proud! Alone, in my suburban house, I could produce a tomato!

I planted 40 of the 42 plants available to me as two were beyond saving. I carefully watered and weeded and lo and behold, they all flourished!

That was the fall I learned to make tomato sauce!



Potato, Potato, Tomato, Tomato Let's Call the Whole Thing Off (I just had to do it!)

Smoke gets in your eyes

It was a long time ago that I heard this story.
I was in Baltimore, and the story was relayed to me by a School Principal who I used to be close to. He told me because of my Art Education background.

It seems one of the young teachers he knew was the art teacher in one of the junior high schools. This teacher was not part of my program, was not a student teacher under my direction and had nothing to do with me so that I take no responsibility for this event. I did know her at that time, but that is only guilt by association.

You may have experienced smoke drawing. You could take a candle and hold a paper just above the flame, and if you were a careful manipulator you could get a smoke drawing. You would have to be very adept at this to get any kind of an image, but one was possible.

You could also, very carefully draw with an accelerant such as turpentine or varsol and light it with a match, and very quickly blow it out and get a burned image into the paper. This would work better than the candle but was much more likely to catch on fire. However, if you were nuts and in an experimental mood, that would work.

The young junior high school art teacher knew about these methods and decided that this would work well for her classes. Not carefully thinking out the possibilities, she knew that the fire and smoke would captivate a teen aged audience.

She went shopping and purchased 30 squeeze bottles, the kind we usually see for catsup and mustard. She carefully poured some gasoline into each of the bottles and distributed the bottles, along with a piece of paper, to each child. She had them work on a drawing, which she would light herself so as not to create a hazard. Failing to recognize the hazard of gasoline fumes because after all, she opened some windows, she lit the first drawing so the kids could see.

The school was forced to rebuild one wing of the building after it was burned to the ground.

However, no children were hurt in the making of this very real story.

Adult Education

Starting in about 1964, I began to teach Adult Education, an evening program designed for adults with special interests including auto mechanics, cooking sewing and art. This seems to be gone now. I just tried to see if it still existed, but our world has changed and at least for Howard County, Maryland, there seems to be no such programming.

Adult Education was basically a hobbyist escape, I think, and was a great deal of fun for me as the teacher and seemingly for my class, and most of the others with which I was familiar. Even later my father-in-law, himself a long standing adult ed participant (auto repair) in the Baltimore City Schools, became a teacher when he retired to Florida. He was teaching Lucite Design in one of the Dade County, Florida High Schools late in the evening.

I taught Oil Painting on Tuesday evenings from 7:00 until 9:30 (I think). The fee was $1 for the entire course and I was paid (I have no memory of the amount but it was worth driving back to the area after dinner to do it). The only requirement I had was to collect the dollar on the first night and register the people, turn in the money and the registrations, keep attendance and turn in the attendance report at the end of each month. You had to maintain a certain number to continue the class. I think it required about 10 or 12 to start and you had to maintain an average of 7 to keep teaching.

The people were fun, and we were in the art room in Howard High School. We had desk tops that leaned back so they sort of turned into easels. The regular teacher, Morris Green, was a friend and I tried to make sure we didn’t mess up the place.

My job was to give out a materials list, look over the materials everyone had to start with and get them started on projects. Given the set up of the room, it was pretty much each person working separately on their own projects. It was basically a night out for everyone in the room. They also got to use paints probably gotten for Christmas, and not worry about messing up their living rooms.

We talked about painting grounds, varnishes and mediums, and all the painting terminology long since forgotten by me. I had people of all ages and backgrounds, and even a few married couples every term or two.

I usually had enough to start the class and was able to keep it going most of the months.

It was not exciting for me, as I was tired at the end of the day. It was not exciting for the students as they were tired at the end of the day. But, we all were motivated enough to keep going at it and a few stars came out of the group. All in all we had a good, educational time. I believe I kept it going for four years before I finally had to turn in my brushes.

The incident that stands out in my mind as the funny point and the low point simultaneously in this experience was a small, but memorable question.

A woman, painting a small (9’X12”) canvas board picture of a fall scene, was copying it from a small, standard travel postcard. It was a “Somewhere in Pennsylvania” card with trees filling the landscape. She had her sharpened pencil poised over the postcard as she was doing this painting. She pointed to a spot on a medium sized tree and using a small magnifying glass to see it said, “See that leaf, how do you make that color?” My best guess was at that time the leaf in question, if one could discern it from the mob, was less than 1/32” square.

The funniest part, given my need for the extra job and my general enjoyment of Tuesday nights, was to answer the question seriously, which I did. She mixed the color for the leaf I couldn’t possibly see, even with the eyesight of a 22 year old teacher, with my help and thanked me for the answer, whatever it was.

If that didn’t get me off of teaching, I was sure nothing ever would.

Rena's Cookbook revisited

Two years go or so I posted the blog, "Rena’s Cookbook".



Many of you have found this artifact, and I have added the few “foodie” pieces from Arthursdays to sort of update the site, which was complete when I put it in the first time.


I decided to repeat the link to the site because I’ve added new readers as time goes on and they may never have looked into the back postings. It was done as a labor of love, as is this whole site.


It becomes clear to me that I do this for me. It is making me the writer I never dreamed I was, and as my audience maintains or grows (I know not which), I want to bring back some of the past “hits”.


I don’t know who reads this one except when I’m told. There are a few I can count on, some old friends and some old relatives, and an assortment of others. I am always surprised when I hear from some of you, usually by email or sometimes by phone or Facebook, that you’ve been reading something I’ve written and thought it was funny, or moving or even stupid.


My wife, who you may remember does not approve of all this, tells me it’s creepy!


My second son told me two women in his office in Chicago read it from time to time. I will not tell stories about him in here, at least not using his name. I’m sure some already exist.


In my mind its fun, and a great way to be creative for a continuing audience. Since there is no money involved in this, it has to be for the love. So, here is the start of the old post.

When my mother passed away at the beginning of November, 1997, we were left with the task of cleaning out her apartment. In that effort, we almost lost my mother's recipe box. It is a 50's printed red metal box that almost slipped out of our grasp and into the trash.


My mother was not known for her cooking, and often made fun of her own dishes. We used to joke about her cooking. For many years, as you know, we all lived together in the same house on Walcott Avenue, my Mother, my Father and my Grandparents. “Bubbe" did most of the cooking, especially at holiday time. But with her passing in 1967, and my Father's in 1970, my mother became the cook for herself and her father until his passing in 1976. After that, living alone, we often spoke of cooking, new ideas, and new ways to prepare old dishes. Most of these recipes reflect another time, where canned foods were the basis of food preparation, not today's lighter, fresher ingredients.


Many of the recipes stuffed into the box were from friends and relatives, some noted as such with names attached and others anonymous. Many came from Jell-O boxes, product inserts and newspapers. I have copied all the ones that were hand written and Xeroxed, and have not included the printed ones because you can get your own Jell-O box.


This is an amazing collection. Some of my personal favorites are not included, because she already knew how to fry chicken, or make our favorite family veal chops. These recipes must have been things she didn't make regularly so she needed a recipe. These are not a legacy as such, but a glimpse into a time, long forgotten. Holiday foods, special meals and even an alcoholic drink (from my Aunt Hilda) are included. I hope this all brings back warm memories for you as it does for me.


Enjoy!

Please click on link below


www.renascookbook.blogspot.com

Max goes to the dentist

Max needed dental care. If you regularly read this blog, you know Max is our Cairn Terrier, and the ruler of the roost. This was preventive surgery, as nothing was wrong but with some gum recession, it could go wrong. Rather then wait for the problem to happen, we went for it, of course.

We love (and better still Max loves) the vet. We hope everyone has that kind of a relationship with their vet, and we trust him completely. Therefore, if he says we need it, we need it. Still, I ask you to review this bill. I know it’s all highly specialized and I couldn’t do it but I would never have ventured a guess at this one! My dentist, who I know could not and would not do it, would simply charge less to do this for me.

Years ago, a vet friend of mine rented his operating facility to a friend with a heart surgeon friend, to operate on this guy’s dog. He had agreed to do the dog’s needed heart surgery for free, so all he needed was the proper place as the hospital wouldn’t let him operate on a dog.

The place rented, they proceeded with the operation one evening with the vet’s cautionary tales about this being a big dog (a great dane as I remember) and not a human. The dog died on the table, of course.

All this being said, you can see the bill here. Did I need the money, of course? Did I have a better place for the money, no? Max comes first always, but still, $650.62 to remove two teeth from a small dog, my God!

I am sure the prices are proper, and it all seems fine. My expectations were just different than my reality, but that seems to be my life story, doesn’t it?

A kiss to build a dream on......

Last year I started a post on Social Kissing with the following:



I have quite a time with social kissing


Now I like kissing as much as the next guy (just not kissing the next guy) but sometimes it’s a tough call. Do or don’t I?


Do I go in for the kiss or hold my ground? What about violating social space? What about business kissing, a new sport?


It used to be you kissed your Aunts or maybe your cousins and that was it! OK, sometimes your parents, like at graduation or something


But your friends?


Your business acquaintances?


Other guys?


OK, I exaggerate, maybe, but friends at dinner parties? I kiss the ladies, but what about new people? I seem to meet them going in and kiss them going out.


Just a word about air kisses. What is that? A cheek kiss gone awry?


What about the possibility of the wandering tongue? Is such a thing possible? Will it happen? And then, what is your response?


I will admit to having it happen only once, it was my birthday and I was kissed and there was tongue movement. What to do? Truthfully I had trouble sleeping. It was a Friday night and I had to see her again on Monday morning.


You probably know this was a long time ago, as if it were now, I would not be writing it in a blog for everyone to see. No, I was not married when this happened, but still, it was social kissing.


If you are reading this post and are now intent on slipping me the tongue the next time you see me, please remember that I will need some warning as it may be over stimulating for my heart!

I attended a alumni function (this is another 80’s part) and as I was circulating around the room, I was stopped by a woman who was the “girlfriend” of a guy I knew pretty well. She said, “Arthur, will you kiss me?” I was startled, but she was serious. I smiled and said something like sure, and went in for the kiss. When we connected, I realized she was serious! I wasn’t sure how cool I could be, as we were in a room full of people and they could all see. It lasted a bit, and we disconnected. She smiled and said something like, “Pretty good”, and I had a strange look on my face, as I didn’t understand her comment. She said,” Beth (fictitious name used to protect me and the woman) said you were just an amazing kisser, and I wanted to see for myself”.

I was dumbfounded!

I didn’t know this was a test! (I might have tried harder.)

I tried to remember when and where Beth had gotten this information, and lo and behold a memory came drifting back into my addle brained head; I had an encounter with Beth.

It was the year before, and we were somewhere, out of town I believe, and I was in a hotel lobby when Beth appeared. She may have asked me to go upstairs, (I know I didn’t), but there was this goodbye kiss! It was foggy in my mind, as I had been drinking and I’m sure she had been to. I forgot it by the morning and she had clearly carried it with her, at least until she could pass on this important information.

Did I pass the test? I’ll never know. I never saw the young lady again, and I never kissed Beth again.

The truth is out there.